But
someone didn't seem to
grasp the fact that you weren't supposed to actively try to make him
angry. Someone did
something so unspeakable
that he was on the warpath, and murder and mayhem followed him as a
result.

The
moment 'Memoirs' had been published, the Joker had sent a henchman to
get his paws on a copy. What better way to cheer himself up than with
more adoration written by that whoever-she-was that worshiped the
ground he walked on? Now that she had resurfaced, alive and unharmed,
she'd seen fit to write another book--one that most likely dripped
with compliments for the clown prince of crime!

Sadly,
the way he was
portrayed in the volume was far from being complimentary. As he
flipped each and every page, his smile drifted downwards (as far as
his disfigurement would allow, at any rate) and rage bubbled to the
surface, brutally shoving all his jolliness aside.

He
threw the hardcover right back in the face of the henchman who'd
fetched it, knocking him over with its sheer size.

The
audacity of the author to suggest the Joker antagonized Batman
because he was in love with him!
How absurd! More than absurd! Absolutely insulting!

The
Joker had poured over 'Diary Of A Henchgirl', wearing out the
spine of his copy in Arkham as he read and reread it, enjoying the
way the unknown author appreciated him from afar, and this…this was
just such a slap in the face!

Oh, she
was going to pay for
this presumption! If he had to hunt her to the ends of the earth, he
would find her and wring her neck for this trash!

---

The
Joker wasn't the only villain in Gotham who was angry about their
representation in the recent best seller, but he was the only one who
actually implemented a plan to get back at the author and her fellow
henchgirls.

It was
unknown to the Captain and Al that there was a plum colored shadow
watching their every move as they left the grocery store, each with a
large paper bag clutched in her arms, but it became quite apparent as
the made their way down the block when the aforementioned shadow came
out of hiding and stood before them on the sidewalk in all his violet
clad glory.

His
smile was a little too broad and his eyes looked just a little bit
too eager as he stared
the two women down.

Not
surprisingly, they dropped their bags in shock, not bothering to even
consider stooping to
pick them up again.

Egg
yolks and orange juice ran over the pavement as he loomed over them,
all disconcerting grin and intimidating height, not to mention the
rather worrying lime green spray canister he had in his hand.

"Where's
the other one?"

The
Captain blinked, calling up all the information she possibly had on
the Joker. All she could hear in her head was a miniature Donald
O'Conner, dancing around singing Make him
laugh. Make him laugh. Make him laugh.

A
heaving gasp was his answer. After all, she wasn't going to disobey
the guy who held her life in his hands…he was just nuts enough to
spray them for something so trivial as not following his order to
breathe.

He let
out a little chuckle. "Repeatedly, that's the way breathing
works."

Al was
hyperventilating before she knew what was happening, certain that an
asthma attack wasn't far behind.

"You're
awfully good at following orders, aren't you?"

Dumbly,
they both nodded.

"Good,
tell me where the one
who wrote the book is," he swept his gaze over both of them. "Now."

The
Captain and Al didn't get the opportunity to answer, the sound of
applause exploded from the window of the shop he'd cornered them in
front of, coming from the televisions on display. Some random daytime
talk show was playing and while under ordinary circumstances he
would've just returned to terrorizing the author bitch's friends,
the fact that the cover of 'The Very Secret Memoirs Of A Henchgirl'
flashed across the screen held his attention rapt.

"Welcome
to a very special live edition of the Vicki Richardson Show." The
host was a very angry looking little woman with white blonde hair and
a bossy demeanor as she virtually shouted
into her microphone. "The author of 'The Very Secret Memoirs Of A
Henchgirl' has come out of hiding to speak with us today, and I do
hope you'll all give her a warm welcome: Miss Tammy Wilcox!"

The
Joker paused and glanced at the two terrified women in front of him,
narrowing his eyes as he struggled to recall what the third of their
trio looked like. "That's not her."

It
wasn't a question, it was a statement. He didn't even need them
to confirm what he said, he knew.

Without
a word, he gave them and
the television one last look before he turned on his heel and stalked
away.

Whether
he knew that Al had fainted from oxygen deprivation as he sauntered
away wasn't clear, but the Captain noticed it.

Or
would have, if she hadn't joined her friend in stressed out
delirium.

---

The
television studio where the Vicki Richardson Show was taped was blown
to smithereens and nobody was really surprised about it, either.
Especially not the people who'd bought the book and realized that
to insult a villain was to incite their wrath.

However,
an explosion, in the opinion of the Joker wasn't a degrading enough
death for the woman who'd slandered his name.

She
was never found, but rumors surfaced about the fact the Joker had
given her a nice new pair of cement pumps to match the pretty purple
bruises he'd been so kind to provide all over her body. It was
thought she was at the bottom of the nearest lake, but some people
wondered if maybe the Joker had been a mite bit more creative than
that.

It
took less than a week for things to get straightened out in the
criminal community and for Techie's own halfway-decent name to be
cleared of all crimes involved with that travesty of a book.

Clinton
Gillinsby hadn't been quite as lucky though. When it was found out
that the woman who'd written 'Memoirs' was a fraud, he lost
most of his good
authors as well as his reputation as a respectable publisher.

What's more, he got the joy of a visit from the Scarecrow
and his henchgirls, who were very
put out about the whole messy business, and he only barely
escaped being flayed alive by swearing up and down that he hadn't
known
the book was a fake and that he'd make it right.

He
escaped being flayed alive, sure, but he didn't get out of being a
test subject for an eager Jonathan Crane's newest fear toxin
variation, and they left him in his office, a blubbering mess before
they set the building alight and watched it burn.

Quite
possibly the most unusual
thing that happened after all the dust settled was a gift that was
left at the Scarecrow's lair.

A
dozen bright purple poppies were on the doorstep one morning with a
long, drawn out letter from the Joker for his admirer with a penchant
for writing--the real
one.

The
letter was passed between all four occupants of the lair and each
read it in turn.

The
Joker was writing love letters and leaving them on the doorstep…

It
was hastily agreed that it was most definitely time to move.

Preferably
to another planet.

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